


While You Were Gone

by leonidaslion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Horror, M/M, Wincest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-10
Updated: 2011-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-17 22:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leonidaslion/pseuds/leonidaslion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sends Sam into town to fetch supplies. Sam doesn't like what he finds when he gets back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	While You Were Gone

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spnkink_meme.

The sound of running water greets Sam as he returns to the cabin bearing the medical supplies Dean asked for, and it's a little surprising because Sam assumed Dad would be done washing up by now. He moves into the cabin, dropping the bag on the rickety wooden table and calling, "I'm back!"

From the bathroom, the sound of the falling water continues uninterrupted.

Frowning a little now, Sam heads into the cabin's bedroom. No Dean here either, and he's starting to get a really bad feeling about this.

"Dean!" he calls, turning around as though he'll find his brother hiding in a corner. The sound of the shower is like thunder in his ears, drowning out his own thoughts, and he runs his hands through his hair as he spins. Fuck, where is he?

Kicking himself back into motion, Sam sprints over to the bathroom door and pounds on the wood. "Dad! Dean's gone!"

Nothing greets him but the continuing, maddening sound of cascading water. Except. Except Sam's pretty sure that he can hear something else, below the water's patter. Something softer.

A sob.

The bathroom door is going to be locked, he knows, except it isn't. It turns easily beneath his hand, and the door opens, and Sam's stomach drops right through the floor.

It isn't Dad in the shower: it's Dean. It's Dean naked and dangling from the shower head. Whoever strung him up there used what Sam recognizes as Dean's own cuffs to do it, and there are thin, red marks dug into his skin where the metal is cutting him. Blood trickles down his forearms until it reaches the spray of water and is washed clean.

Dean's head is down, the spray falling directly on his bared neck and back, and he's shivering in a way that makes Sam wonder in a distant, horrified way how long his brother has been there. He was forty-five minutes out of the woods, twenty in the store, another forty-five back, and fuck, the hot water must have run out ages ago.

He's moving before he's aware of it, darting forward and reaching out to turn off the shower. His other hand pushes into the spray _(he's right, it's fucking freezing)_ , to feel for Dean's pulse. Dean rears away from the touch, making a harsh, grunting noise that's part protest and part panic. His lips, Sam sees now, are tinged with blue. His eyes are wide and wild--he's looking at Sam but not seeing him, not comprehending anything but the uncontrollable shudders wracking his body.

"Christ, man, what happened?" Sam whispers. He doesn't expect an answer and he doesn't get one as he steps into the shower, sliding an arm around his brother's waist in preparation to lift him up and get his hands down from the shower head.

Dean twists away from him, feet slipping on the slick bottom of the tub. He makes a breathless, pained sound as his legs go out from under him and leave all of his weight hanging from his bloodied wrists. Swearing, Sam tries for him again and gets a firmer grip.

"Damn it, Dean, stop struggling!" he mutters, but even hanging from the shower head like he is Dean is doing his best to bodycheck Sam back out of the shower. Sam slips a little himself, recovers, and then hoists Dean up. Dean makes another hurt noise as the pressure on his wrists is released and then Sam is hauling him out of the shower and into the middle of the bathroom. He considers the floor for a second and then discards the idea--he'd never get Dean up again--and props him against a wall instead.

"Stay there. I'm gonna get a towel."

He starts to turn away and freezes. His stomach gives another unsettling lurch as he slowly turns back, looking more closely at his brother's body. At the blooming, dark fingerprints all over Dean's hips.

"Jesus Christ," he moans sickly, wiping a hand across his mouth.

"Chrisso," Dean slurs. It's his first word, but he doesn't look any more present than he did before.

Sam realizes with a hollow, sinking sensation that Dean's face is bruised too. More of those fingerprints on his jaw where someone forced his teeth apart open and held his mouth open.

"Not Dad," Dean announces, looking straight at Sam and seeing nothing but his own personal hell. "You're not him."

The scrape of a boot on the floorboards behind him tells Sam that they're not alone. He turns, slowly, and John's broad frame is blocking the doorway. The man is grinning. His eyes are clotted over with yellow.

"Sammy," he drawls. "About time you got back. Dean here's been asking for you for _hours_ ..."

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt was:
> 
>  **possessed!John/Dean, non-con.** Sam finds out.


End file.
